Some day anemic Death with clammy, frigid handAt last, when time is ripe, against your breast will brush, And pale will be your lips that now with coral blush;Your shoulders’ balmy snow will turn to freezing sand.Sweet glimmer of your eyes, the vigor of your hand,Before such mortal things that bow to him, decline.Your hair at present rivals even gold in shineBut final time will render it a worthless band.That well-turned little foot, your elegance of styleThese will become in part just dust, the rest but void;No more will any man revere you as sublime.Yet this and even more than this at last will end.Your heart alone is able to outlive this fate,For Nature cut a diamond made to last all time
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